


Seteth Birthday Bash 2020

by clokcwork_dragon



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Drabble Collection, Multi, SetethBB2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28213818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clokcwork_dragon/pseuds/clokcwork_dragon
Summary: A collection of one-shots for the Seteth Birthday Bash event on twitter. Various relationships, but the central focus is always Seteth. Ranging from angst to hurt/comfort to light-hearted fluff.
Relationships: Flayn & Seteth (Fire Emblem), Jeralt Reus Eisner/Seteth, My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 12
Kudos: 30
Collections: Seteth Birthday Bash 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1: Nabatean // Fatigue
> 
> (this is unbeta-ed I am sorry for any glaring mistakes).

The central clock of Garreg Mach struck midnight, the chiming sound reverberating throughout the premises like the distant call of a siren. Yet Seteth found himself hearing it loud and clear; unlike most of the monastery’s occupants, he was still awake and sitting behind his desk, busy with his work.

He sighed and allowed himself a short break from the paperwork that blanketed his entire desk. He rubbed his tired eyes with the back of his hand, and for a few moments he considered that perhaps he should stop for that day, and continue the next. He was ahead of schedule, anyway.

But the thought faded away, and he took hold of his quill again. It was pointless to think of going to bed- even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to rest, anyway. Not with the nightmares that plagued him ever since Flayn had disappeared. Of course, Professor Eisner had returned her safe and sound, but the nightmares persisted, just as savage as before. Images he had tried to forget, memories he’d buried so deep to the back of his mind, were coming to the surface. The screams of the dead and the blood of his loved ones were a nightly occurrence in his dreams, and as a result he’d started avoiding sleep as much as he could. So instead of subjecting himself to that kind of torment, he instead opted to focus on his work.

The slight problem with that was, of course, the fact that as much as he wished to, he wouldn’t be able to avoid sleep forever. His kind possessed more endurance than regular humans, but even they needed to rest and replenish their energy once in a while. Besides, others were starting to notice the telltale signs of exhaustion on him; just that morning, Jeralt had commented that he looked almost sick, what with being so pale and having dark circles under his eyes. He’d also begun to slip up and make mistakes during his lectures to the Black Eagles house, which Edelgard had eventually picked up on and asked him whether he needed a few days off of class, insisting Professor Manuela would be more than willing to cover up for him.

It had all been extremely embarrassing to say the least, but Seteth had simply insisted that it was nothing that a cup of tea and a short break wouldn’t fix. But he knew it wouldn’t be long before word of it reached Rhea, and then she would probably demand some kind of explanation. And the last thing Seteth wanted, was to have to explain his nightmares to her.

For the moment, he decided not to think of it. He just pressed on, filling page after page of market reports, exercise instructions, teaching schedules and faculty expenses. Eventually he lost himself in his workflow again, failing to keep track of time.

The next thing he knew was that there was a knock on his door. He jolted, spilling a few drops of ink across the parchment. Who could it be, at this hour?!

The door opened before he could give his permission for it, and in slipped Flayn. Seteth let out a small, relieved sigh.

“Flayn… what are you doing here, _deargadh_?” He asked, placing his quill down. It was rare that he let himself slip up and speak to her in their old, forgotten language, but he supposed there was no danger for it in the middle of the night.

Flayn yawned, walking up to his desk, barefoot and in a simple white nightgown.

“I woke up and saw you weren’t in your bed.” She said quietly, sitting down on his lap. “I was worried you might be overworking yourself, and so I came to see for myself. I was correct, wasn’t I?”

Seteth sighed, wrapping an arm around her and holding her close. Her warmth was comforting; she was there, she was alive, she was safe.

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with me, Flayn. There’s a lot of work to be done, and I cannot afford to fall behind. Go back to bed, and I’ll be there soon, okay?”

Flayn pouted, the haze of sleep vanishing from her eyes. “You’re lying. You’ve been staying here working all night for the past week.”

So she had noticed. Of course… Flayn was such a perceptive child. She must have noticed that he hadn’t been sleeping on his bed. Or at all, for that matter.

He remained silent for a moment, trying to come up with anything that would serve as a viable excuse. However, Flayn caught up to him before he’d even spoken.

“Do not lie to me anymore, father.” She huffed. “This has been happening ever since professor Eisner returned me to Garreg Mach. I do not believe these two facts are unrelated.”

His bright, intelligent daughter had pieced everything together, hadn’t she? How could he lie to her again, when her words had hit home? He could never lie to her anyway, not with her looking at him with those youthful, innocent eyes.

He sighed.

“It is true that ever since your disappearance I’ve been plagued by… memories.” He said carefully. The last thing he wanted, was Flayn blaming herself for his predicament. “They get more intense at night, and I’ve found that work distracts me from them.”

“You’re having nightmares.” Flayn deducted easily. “Of… of the War?”

She had whispered the last words with a fallen face, looking almost guilty for having spoken them out loud. Seteth nodded slowly.

“You’re right. I’ve been having nightmares. But you shouldn’t concern yourself with any of this, Flayn. You should get rest, you’re still so pale and-“

“Enough.” Flayn looked at him with blazing determination, although she hadn’t raised her voice. “Do not ask of me to simply leave you here until you pass out from exhaustion. I will not do it. You need sleep, father. You truly look sick. I’ve almost recovered my strength, but Professor Byleth says you didn’t sleep during the entire month of my disappearance, and if you’re still not resting, then…”

She trailed off to suck in a quick breath, having spoken rapidly without taking one.

“…Then I can’t help but be concerned! I won’t let you continue to harm yourself in such a manner.”

Seteth lowered his head a little, to look at her hands holding his tightly. He truly did feel horrible for having caused such worry to his daughter, yet he couldn’t think of anything to say that could counter her words. She was right, and he _knew_ that she was right. But that fact alone wasn’t going to help.

“I’m sorry, Flayn. I wish I could ease your worries. But I can’t. Now please, go. One of us should get some sleep, at the very least.”

“Come with me, father.” She smiled at him, her hand gently touching his shoulder. “I can sit with you until you fall asleep. It always helps me sleep free of nightmares, when you sit by me.”

Seteth couldn’t help but let out a small, tired laugh.

“I truly feel like a child with you lecturing me like this. Sometimes, I can’t help but feel like you’re the most mature between the two of us.”

Flayn beamed with pride. “I think the same. Sometimes you just behave so nonsensically, it’s ridiculous! Now come. Please?”

Maybe it was because he was just too weary to put up any more resistance, but Seteth found himself submitting to Flayn’s wishes. He stood up slowly, not even bothering to tuck the papers in their drawers and tidy up his quill and inkpot. He just held Flayn’s hand and followed her out of the office to their shared chambers.

Flayn all but shoved him onto his bed, then spent a good amount of time readjusting his pillows and tucking the blankets snug around him. Seteth let out a small, embarrassed sound.

“Please, Flayn, let me retain some of my dignity. I promise you there’s no need to fuss.”

“Hush!” She grinned at him. “You’ve been fussing over me every day, ever since I came back. Let me take care of you for once, _athair_.”

She finished tidying up the covers, and slipped under them beside him. She giggled.

“That’s a lot like when I was very small, and I would sleep with you and Mother, is it not?” She whispered. Seteth smiled and kissed her forehead.

“Yes, my dear. It is…”

He blinked as the image of Idunn being struck down by one of Nemesis’ soldiers flashed in his mind. The familiar, freezing fear of what was to come if he closed his eyes seemed to return.

Flayn must have sensed his discomfort, because her hand found his and squeezed it tightly.

“It will be alright.” She said. “We have each other, don’t we?”

“Yes… I suppose you’re right, _iníon_.”

Maybe Flayn truly was right. Maybe with her by his side, knowing she is safe and sound, he would be able to have a peaceful night’s sleep. Maybe he’d be able to face the demons of his past.

He held the girl close, gently petting her hair. Flayn started purring softly, a sound she hadn’t made in so many long, bleak years. Seteth found his body growing numb as he slowly allowed himself to relax. As soon as he had lied down he’d realised just how fatigued he truly was, how desperately he wanted to rest. His eyes closed against his will, and before long he submitted to calm and blissful darkness.

For the first time in weeks, Seteth slept without nightmares.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flayn's disappearance does quite a number on Seteth, who struggles to keep his composure. [featuring SetJeralt]
> 
> Day 2: Duty // Composure

“Calm yourself, Seteth.”

 _How_? How could he _possibly_ be asked to stay calm when Flayn -his daughter, his reason to breathe- had been taken away from him?! How, when he had so spectacularly failed his most important duty?! How could Rhea bear to ask such a thing of him?!

And yet, Seteth had begun to notice with no small amount of chagrin, life at the monastery went on as it always had. The students continued to attend their classes, and only searched for any possible trace of the missing girl afterwards. Professor Byleth led the search, and Jeralt was at her heel (whenever he wasn’t too busy trying to coax Seteth to eat a bite of food or go to bed for at least a little while). But Rhea continued on as if nothing had occurred. Everyone searched, and yet the fewer traces of Flayn the knights found, the more of them were called back to the monastery and assigned back to their normal duties. Seteth couldn’t bear it. He never asked of anyone to see him as someone of great important, but Flayn… Flayn _was_ important. She was a child, and Rhea’s family, too. How could she possibly remain so calm and collected about this?!

These thoughts ran around his head in circles, again and again, as he sat slumped in Jeralt’s room, a steaming cup of tea shoved in his hands by none other than the Captain of the Knights himself. Jeralt, Alois and Hanneman were the only other members of the staff that actually seemed to see the situation for what it was, and were out searching day and night with the students; Jeralt because he actually gave a damn, Alois because Jeralt told him to, and Hanneman because of Manuela having disappeared as well.

Seteth had attempted to be of use too, during the first few days. More accurately, he hadn’t stopped running back and forth through the monastery grounds, searching for anything, any trace of his little girl, anything that might tell him where he was. He’d accompanied the knights and the students, until Byleth had subtly suggested that maybe he would be better off in the sidelines, and Catherine had not-so-subtly pronounced that he was a pain the ass more than he was of any use.

In the end, they’d probably been right. Not only did his panic interfere with the logical planning and executing of a strategy to find Flayn, but he was also unable to keep his composure and perform any of his remaining duties whatsoever. Rhea had been forced to delegate the paperwork to Shamir, Gilbert had to act as a replacement for him as the teacher of the Black Eagles house, and the day he had been on kitchen duty he has seen Raphael of all people secretly empty his bowl of fish stew into the pond near the dining hall.

Needless to say, he was utterly and doubtlessly useless.

Seteth set his cup down on the table by the armchair and buried his face in his hands. He felt drained of all will to live; he hadn’t been eating properly or sleeping at all for almost a month, even with Jeralt’s nagging to do so. And yet, despite the utter pain and exhaustion nesting deep inside his bones, he couldn’t bring himself to collapse just yet. Even when he felt lightheaded and the room seemed to spin, he wouldn’t give in to the blissful darkness that beckoned to him, nor to the pangs of hunger that seemed to be a permanent occurrence these days. Flayn might be found at any moment; and then it would be his duty to be by her side, to comfort her and reassure her he would never leave her again, he would never let anyone harm her.

But what if he was too late? What if she _was_ hurt already, or worse…? _Oh, Mother, please, no no no, take me instead, do not let any harm come upon my Cethleann…_

He didn’t know for how many hours he’d sat there, staring at the carpeted floor as terror flooded his every pore. He became only distantly aware of Jeralt having knelt next to him, gently rubbing his shoulder and whispering empty words of comfort. Seteth blinked, and as he slowly came back to reality he realised he was shivering, and that his nails were digging deep scratches on the back of his other hand.

“Seteth. Look at me.” Jeralt sounded genuinely worried, but Seteth couldn’t even bring himself to feel guilty about that. No emotion could surpass his despair. However, he did gaze with bleary, lightless eyes at the knight.

Jeralt let out a sigh and began to wrap a handkerchief around Seteth’s bleeding hand.

“I know you won’t listen to me, but you’re not being of any use by starving and exhausting yourself. You’ll need to be strong for Flayn, when she’s found.”

 _When_. Not _if_. The simple difference between the two words seemed to be the last straw, and Seteth’s eyes suddenly felt wet. All these horrendous weeks he hadn’t been able to cry. And now, suddenly, the dams seemed to break.

“What if she’s never found, Jeralt?” He murmured unsteadily, speaking his innermost fear. “What if I never see her again? What if I never get to hold my little girl in my arms again, to tell her how terribly sorry I am for not… for not being a better father, even after all of my promises to her.”

Jeralt’s strong, warm arms wrapped around Seteth, drawing him close. The knight leaned in, pressing a soft kiss on the other man’s forehead and wiping away the tears with a rough, callused thumb.

“She will be found.” Jeralt said steadily, staring into Seteth’s eyes. “I swear to you, by the Goddess Herself, that I will return Flayn safe to your arms. You _have_ to believe it. You _have_ to believe she’s out there, waiting to be found. You cannot lose hope now, Seteth. Do not allow this despair to consume you.”

Seteth sobbed quietly, only muffled sounds coming out of him as he pressed his face on Jeralt’s shoulder.

“How do you know?” He croaked. “How do you know she’s not already gone?”

Jeralt ran his hands through Seteth’s emerald locks, holding the advisor tightly against his chest in hopes of offering all the comfort that he possibly could.

“Because she wants to come back to you. She wants to come back to her father, Seteth, and she wouldn’t leave you no matter what. And before you know it, she will be back. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: @flaythleann  
> Event (twitter): @setethbday2020 organised by @Grimmbae


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: Guardian // Song
> 
> (went with a bit more humorous approach for this one to cure the angst of the first two entries. It's not narrated from Seteth's perspective this time but he's still gonna shine!)

Bernadetta, Mercedes, Annette, Dorothea and Hilda knew very well that sneaking outside of one’s dorm during the wee hours of the night was well-and-clearly forbidden by the rules of the Officers’ Academy, and that there would be in for the scolding of a lifetime if anybody caught them.

Did that stop them, however? Of course not.

Well, it would have stopped Bernadetta, but Dorothea insisted she’d absolutely had to come with them, because this was the chance of a lifetime to see…

“…A ghost!” Bernie gasped, biting at the fingernails of one hand and holding onto Dorothea’s arm with the other. “I don’t want to see a ghost! I can really, _really_ spend my entire life without seeing a ghost, thank you very much!”

“Oh, but Bernie, don’t you want to listen to what stories they may have to tell us?” Mercedes whispered softly, leading the group. She had already explained that she had seen and heard the ghost on the bridge linking the monastery to the cathedral, and that’s where the girls were heading, with nothing but a carefully concealed light spell to show them the way. Anything else would be risking discovery.

Annette wouldn’t have minded more light, and although she didn’t want to admit it in front of Mercedes, in reality she was as scared as Bernadetta. Hilda seemed sleepy and bored rather than scared or even apprehensive, and Dorothea had believed every word that had come out of Mercedes’ mouth and was whispering excitedly about what gruesome fate the ghost might have had to be bound to the bridge of Garreg Mach.

“No I _don’t_ want to listen to their stories!” Bernadetta whimpered, but they were almost at the bridge at that point; too late to turn back. Mercedes ushered them behind a row of beautifully trimmed hedges, where they crouched down on the ground close to each other. The hedges had a tiny little gap between them that allowed them a perfect and secure view of the bridge. All they had to do was wait.

They didn’t have to wait long. Soon, they discerned a shadow crossing the bridge from the same side they had come from. Hilda gasped with disbelief, Dorothea signalled for her to be quiet with a finger on her lips, and Bernadetta seemed extremely close to bolting. However, none of them move as the shadowy figure stopped at the middle of the bridge and seemed to lean over the stone ledge, peering at the depths below.

“Should we go talk to it?” Dorothea whispered, but Mercedes shook her head.

“We will scare it away, and then we won’t have a chance to hear its song.”

“Song?” Hilda raised an eyebrow. “Do ghosts sing?”

“Of course!” Mercedes nodded fiercely, though she kept her voice low. “They sing the woes of their past lives!”

Just as she had finished her sentence, the ghost did indeed began to sing. The voice was soft and melodious, and definitely belonged to a man, although the bridge was far enough that the words barely reached them.

_‘In time’s flow,_

_See the glow of flames,_

_Ever burning bright…’_

The girls stared and even Mercedes, who had heard the ghost singing before, looked drawn in by the otherworldly, melancholic sound. The echo that reverberated through the ravine underneath the bridge only served to magnify the effect.

“It’s… beautiful.” Dorothea dared to whisper. She had, after all, a keen ear for music.

“It sounds sad.” Hilda commented, but she had stopped looking so bored. Mercedes smiled softly.

“What a terrible life it must have lived, for its song to carry so much sorrow.”

_‘On the swift rivers drift,_

_Broken memories alight…’_

Annette let out a dreamy sigh. “I wish I could talk to it… are you absolutely sure that we can’t ask it to-“

She was cut short by the sound of wings flapping suddenly in the wind. A dark shape -a bat or a bird- whizzed above their heads, startling all five of them. Unfortunately, that was the last straw for poor Bernadetta; she let out a loud yelp, falling backwards and landing on her back with a considerable amount of noise.

“Bernadetta be quiet!” Hilda scolded her. “Do you _want_ to get us caught?!”

The purple-haired girl stammered an apology, but she was caught of by Mercedes.

“Aw… we must have scared it away.”

Indeed, the ghost seemed to have vanished into thin air- which the girls supposed made a lot of sense considering it was, well, _a ghost._

“Pity.” Dorothea sighed. “I would have liked to hear some more of this song. What do you think the lyrics might have meant?”

Annette hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps it died in a fire?”

“ _Perhaps_ ,” Hilda muttered “we should head back before anybody finds us! Seteth would absolutely murder us.”

“And why would I do that?”

All the girls screamed this time, jumping out of their hiding spot and getting tangled up with each other. Annette fell on Dorothea, and Mercedes stumbled behind Hilda and Annette. Five pairs of wide eyes looked up to see none other than Seteth himself, standing over them with an accusing expression on his face.

“Goddess above, how did you sneak up on us, Professor?” Dorothea gasped, getting off from under Bernadetta and dusting her skirt.

“You weren’t very hard to spot.” Seteth admitted. “Bernadetta’s screams of agony could be heard from a mile away. Care to tell me exactly what you are doing here in such an hour?”

Mercedes stepped forward and smiled innocently.

“We were looking for a ghost.” She said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We scared it away, though…”

“Ah,” Seteth smirked just a little, and Mercedes silently realised she had perhaps made a mistake. “I see… you had an encounter with the famous Bandit of the Bridge…”

“You know of it, Professor?” Hilda asked, evidently eager to stir the subject away from their mischiefs.

“Oh, yes. I do know all about it.” Seteth raised an eyebrow. “But are you sure you want to hear about it at such a dark and eerie night? It’s a horrifying tale.”

‘Tell us!’ exclaimed Mercedes at the same time that Bernadetta and Annette let out a unified _‘No thanks!’_

“Very well.” Seteth adopted an expression of surrender, visible under the moonlight even without the light of the girls’ extinguished candles. “So the story goes…”

_‘Decades ago, far before the fathers of your fathers had been born, there was a beautiful nun that led the evening prayers in Garreg Mach. So beautiful she was, that even those who had no love for the Goddess came to the monastery to gaze upon her splendour. And so it came to pass, that a young bandit would be made aware of her beauty, and proclaimed to his companions that he would steal her away and marry her under the full moon of summer._

_The bandit snuck in every evening, mingling with the faithful to behold the nun’s beauty and hear her words, as sweet as honey. And at night, he would come to the bridge and sing, for that was his great talent, so much so that his band of thieves had named him The Nightingale. With his voice he hoped to lure her to him, and so he did._

_The nun fell in love with his voice and courage, just as he had fallen in love with her beauty and purity. They would meet up every night on that bridge, but every time he suggested they run away together, she would refuse, for there was nothing that could convince her to abandon her service to the divine. But the bandit didn’t lose hope; he kept coming, and one night he even snuck into her room. That had been too much for the lovestruck nun to resist. They spent a night of passion together, and she vowed to him that come morning, she would renounce her oaths to the Goddess and become his wife._

_Alas… when morning came, they appeared before the Archbishop of that time, but their wishes were met with scrutiny and fury. The Archbishop believed the bandit to have forced the nun to feel and do things she didn’t wish to. That he deceived and bribed her, and tempted her away from the Goddess’ path. And so the nun was confined to her chambers, and the bandit was dragged to the dungeons. There he was tortured until he confessed that he had never loved the woman, and that he only wished to court her for her unspeakable beauty. As glaring a lie as that was, it had been what his tormentors had wanted to hear. Surely they would let him go, now, and they would forgive the foolish girl?_

_But they did not. They dragged him to this very bridge, and in front of the eyes of his love they hang him from the ledge. He died writhing and struggling for breath, and when they cut off the rope that held him to the bridge and he dropped to the depths of the ravine, the nun broke free of the knights who had restrained her, and with a last mournful cry she jumped, following her first and only lover to the world of the dead._

_It is said, that Sothis took pity on her, admiring her devotion to her faith as well as to her love. So as she fell, Sothis granted her the spirit of a bird, and bound her to this chasm where both she and her lover had breathed their last. And she allowed the soul of the bandit to come back, as well. But alas, her spirit cannot reach him during the night, and he cannot reach him during the day. Although they can see and hear each other, they can truly touch and speak to each other only at sunset. But that did not stop the brave bandit who dared love the nun; for each night, he comes to that bridge, and he sings the songs he’d sung to her, until the next sunset comes and they can meet again.’_

Seteth cleared his throat as he finished the story. “And that, children, is the tale of one of the many ghosts that haunt Garreg Mach.”

“It… wasn’t so scary.” Annette said slowly, still puzzling to decipher how the ghosts could see and hear each other, but could not truly meet until sunset. Why didn’t they shout to each other, after all? Surely that would work.

“It was so romantic!” Dorothea exclaimed, wiping tears from her eyes. “To sacrifice oneself for your beloved, to die with each other rather than live apart… that is true love!”

“Too much of a hassle if you ask me.” Hilda shrugged. “Why would the knights torture the guy anyway? What did it matter to them whether or not he truly loved the nun, if they planned to execute him from the start?”

“Shhh it’s a tale, Hilda!” Mercedes smiled gently. “A beautiful tale isn’t always in need of logic.”

“Y-You said that there are many ghosts in Garreg Mach, P-Professor?” Bernadetta whimpered, and Seteth gave a nonchalant shrug.

“Of course. So many souls have met their end on these very grounds… and not all of them are peaceful like the ones I just told you about. Many a spirit here are as vengeful as they come, and wish to pay blood with blood.”

Bernadetta nearly collapsed, and Dorothea held her by the armpits. Annette blanched, and even Mercedes didn’t look to thrilled with the prospect.

“They will not harm you, however, if you remain inside your quarters during the hours of the night.” Seteth said meaningfully, his cold emerald gaze piercing through the girls. Hilda caught the message, and saluted quickly.

“’Course we’ll stay in there, Professor! Sure as that! C’mon, ladies, let’s get going! We wouldn’t want to be too tired for class tomorrow.”

Hearing Hilda be concerned about being late for class would have made Seteth chuckle, but he remained stern for a few moments longer, until the girls had all scampered away. That would surely persuade them to not cause any more mischief during the night, and hopefully forget about the “singing bandit ghost” in fear of spiritual retribution from the afterlife.

Seteth smirked as he heard Jeralt coming up after him. The knight had been on guard duty for the night, and had probably heard the commotion but had remained hidden until Seteth had sent the girls away.

“You just made that story up, didn’t ya?” Jeralt asked, snaking an arm around Seteth’s waist. “To scare them. Why didn’t you just tell them the truth? You’ve a nice singing voice, after all.”

“What can I say.” Seteth allowed himself a small, self-assured smirk as he leaned in for a quick kiss.

“I suppose even I can’t say resist a good horror story.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: Relationships // Passion
> 
> (Some SetJeralt angst with a happy ending because of course I had to include my biggest OTP of the game in this event! Warning for feels! And implications of sexytimes though it's never depicted).

It had been so many years since the last time they’d seen each other.

Seteth stood by Rhea’s side, scanning Jeralt with keen emerald eyes as the knight spoke with the Archbishop. He tried to ignore the tightness in his chest, the butterflies fluttering in his stomach; the years had been kind to Jeralt, and he was still as lovely to look at as Seteth remembered him.

He inwardly chastised himself for the thought; there was nothing left between the two of them, Jeralt had made sure of that when he ran away without a word, betraying all the trust Seteth had shown him and taking a fragment of his heart with him.

As soon as the conversation was over and Rhea had informed him of all that was to be arranged about Jeralt and his daughter, Seteth turned away and left with a polite nod to Byleth and Rhea, pointedly ignoring Jeralt.

He did not see the momentary look of hurt that flashed across the knight’s impassive features.

-

“Seteth-“

“Do not.”

The advisor turned away, eyes gazing thoughtfully out of the window. He kept his shoulders tense, his pose straight and collected; he did not wish for Jeralt to see the flood of emotions that had written itself all over his face.

“Just let me talk to ya! Let me explain.” Jeralt insisted, and Seteth heard him stepping closer. He stiffened even further.

“There is nothing to talk about, Jeralt. Each of us must simply go on performing our duties. If we have to collaborate, I will do my best to be efficient, but we are nothing more than colleagues.”

Jeralt sighed, running his hand through his messy hair.

“I know I hurt you. But I had no other choice.”

“There is _always_ a choice.” Seteth choked out bitterly. “And you made yours, twenty years ago.”

Jeralt remained quiet for a few minutes, but he made no move to leave. Seteth concentrated as hard as he could on the reflection of the moon across the still waters of the pond, pretending that the sting behind his eyes was only due to the dusty air of his office.

He thought eventually, Jeralt would tire of this game and leave. He did not.

“When Byleth was born, she didn’t cry. She didn’t respond to any stimulation. And I knew it was because Rhea had done something to my baby girl, that had changed her. _That_ is why I left, Seteth. I could no longer trust my child to Rhea.”

Seteth turned around slowly, allowing some of the pain that had gnawed at him all these years show across his features.

“You could have _told_ me.” He said. “I could have _helped_ you. I could have-”

 _Come with you_. But he knew, before he even said it, that this last part would be a lie. Jeralt knew it too, because he graced him with a small, understanding smile.

“You would not leave Flayn while she slept. I wouldn’t ever ask you to. And I… I thought it would be less painful for the both of us, if I just left without a word. I was afraid that, if I spoke to you, I wouldn’t be able to leave you behind.”

Jeralt let out a small, bitter chuckle. “I would have done something stupid, most likely. Like go directly to Rhea about it, or… dunno. Something equally foolish.”

Seteth didn’t say anything in response; there was nothing to say that could describe his sadness, and the betrayal he felt (even if he now knew it was more than justified), and the regret, everything he had wanted to say to Jeralt but Jeralt was no longer there, and he was lonelier than he had ever be. Lonelier than he was even when his wife had died. Because he had trusted Jeralt with his innermost secrets and his deepest wounds; he had opened up to Jeralt as he hadn’t done to anyone in a thousand years. And still, Jeralt had left without a word. Without trusting him with his own secret.

He suddenly felt exhausted. He just turned around, resting his head on the cold surface of the window.

He did not feel surprised when he felt a gentle touch on his arm a moment later.

“Hey.” He heard Jeralt whisper softly. “Seteth… will you give me another chance? I promise I’ll make things up to you. And I’ll _never_ leave you again. I swear it. I know I acted like a jerk, and that I should have talked to you instead of turning tail and running. Can you forgive me…?”

Seteth looked up, and Jeralt felt pained by the exhaustion in that lightless emerald gaze.

“How could I ever not forgive you…?” Seteth whispered, and the following moment he let out a surprised gasp as Jeralt pushed him against the wall, their lips crashing together fervently as Jeralt kissed him with the burning fire of the sun itself.

Seteth let out a small moan, his arms clinging around Jeralt’s wide shoulders as the knight’s hand brushed through his emerald curls. All the hesitation, all the promises of remaining strong and emotionless against the man that he had loved -and still did love- so fiercely, it all went straight out of the window. There was nothing he could do, Jeralt’s mouth pressed firmly against his, the knight’s tongue slipping in between their joined lips and exploring his mouth as it had done countless times in the past. Seteth let it happen, throwing his weight against the wall as Jeralt forced a knee between his legs, brushing against his crotch and causing another muffled sound of pleasure to come out of him.

Jeralt unlatched his mouth from Seteth’s, bending down to trail hot, burning kisses across the other man’s neck, nearly ripping Seteth’s robes apart in his haste to press his lips against his collarbone, sucking on his skin and leaving markings that would surely raise questions if anybody noticed them. Seteth had half a mind to ask Jeralt to shut the door and do to him whatever inappropriate things he wished, but the sane part of his mind, albeit drunken on passion, forced him to gently push Jeralt away if only for a moment.

They both panted, staring at each other. Their glazed eyes exchanged words their voices could never express, and Jeralt’s callused palm tenderly caressed his cheek.

“I, ah-“ Jeralt laughed awkwardly, his face flushed. “I’m sorry for… I didn’t, uh, cross any boundaries, did I?”

Despite himself, Seteth couldn’t help but let out a small, amused chuckle.

“No.” He said, his own hand resting over Jeralt’s. “No, dearest, you did not.”

It was as if not a single day had passed between them. The pain, the bitterness, the promises of eternal regret, none of it mattered anymore. Why would it, when they had each other again? When the flames of passion had been rekindled inside of them?

“Come.” Jeralt murmured, winking and taking Seteth’s hand to guide him to the door. “If you want, we can take this to my room. Most of the knights are out on the town, so nobody will bother us.”

Seteth felt a blush creeping on his cheeks, although why exactly he didn’t know. Perhaps it was just that he had gone twenty years without Jeralt’s hands on him, and he had forgotten how to handle himself in such a situation.

Jeralt would probably be quick to remind him, he thought wish a small laugh.

“I would like that very much, Jeralt.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: Family // Wyvern 
> 
> (This was supposed to be wholesome and fluffy but I had a very angsty dream about Seteth protecting Flayn last night and now it's all pain, tears and family hurt. I also took the chance to insert one of my headcanons about the War of Heroes).

He sees the danger aiming for his daughter too late.

The flash of dark magic from the enemy mortal savant catches his eye, and Seteth urges Andromache to dive down towards the battlefield at the speed of light. In slow motion, he sees Flayn turn, her eyes widening as she registers the black surge shoot towards her. There is no way she can parry or dodge it, and there’s no way he can reach her fast enough to sweep her up into the skies with his wyvern.

Seteth makes the split-second decision and jumps off of Andromache’s back while the two are still falling, the ground coming up towards them at alarming speed. He lands in front of Flayn at the last second but has no time to turn around and raise his lance; the world explodes in a burning sphere of agony, ribbons of darkness swirling around them as the spell hits him square in the back, yet he keeps his arms wrapped tightly around Flayn’s small body as the two tumble to the ground between the ruins of Garreg Mach. Flayn is screaming, Andromache’s roars are rattling the sky, and the enemy mage’s cries are cut short as the wyvern’s talons slash through his chest in retaliation. Somewhere far away, Byleth is shouting orders to her soldiers, chasing the remainder of Randolph’s troops away from Garreg Mach. They’ve succeeded; they’ve defended their home from the Empire’s clutches once more.

“Father? Father!”

Flayn’s voice, broken by tears, barely reaches him within the numbness that has overtaken him. He can feel a scorching pain across his back where the spell hit, and there’s something wet and warm running down his sides.

“F…Flayn… are you…” he coughs, tasting blood “are you alright…?”

“Father, you’re hurt!” Flayn untangles herself from his arm and her hand touches his face gently. “Please, stay strong. I-I’ll get help!”

Seteth wants to tell her there’s no point, and that he would rather she stayed with him. He didn’t want to be alone when the end finally came. He wanted to be near his daughter until the end. Even if he would no longer be able to protect her from now on, he’s protected her this time. And it’s worth it, the pain, and what’s to come in the next plane of existence, is all worth it if it means he’s kept his precious daughter safe. He would rather die, after all, than witness something happening to her.

“Father! Don’t close your eyes! Look at me!” Flayn’s hands blaze bright with healing magic, but even she must know it’s not enough. Seteth closes his eyes, allowing the darkness to sweep over him at last.

_I’m so sorry, Flayn…_

_-_

_“…ight?”_

_“Done… can… will live, but…”_

_“But…?”_

_“…can’t say if… again…”_

Seteth comes to slowly, and the first thing he feels is… _surprise._ He’s alive? But… he can recall with almost perfect clarity the enemy spell exploding against him as he wrapped his arms around Flayn, sending them both falling to the ground beneath a semi-collapsed wall. He remembers the pain, the debilitating weakness that had overcome him, and Flayn’s desperate pleas as his consciousness had began to sleep away. He was almost certain he was going to die.

And yet… Here he is. His eyes flutter weakly, and the soft, dancing light of a candle ensures him he’s somewhere safe. Somewhere home. The air smells vaguely like salves and herbs, and he realises one of the voices he’s been hearing belongs to Manuela. So he’s in the infirmary?

Seteth opens his eyes, sucking in a short breath. He groans immediately as he feels sharp stabs of pain blossoming beneath his ribcage and across his spine. The noise he makes alerts the other occupants of the room: Manuela, as he’d already predicted, and…

“Flayn…”

“Papa!” Not even _father._ Certainly not _brother._ He wonders distantly if she’s already revealed the truth to Manuela, or if the physician is going to have a lot of unanswered questions.

Flayn kneels next to his bed and her face comes into view. Her cheeks are still stained with dirt and blood, but tears have been cutting clear tracks through it all. She lays her head on his chest as carefully as she can, and her small, frail hands cling to his torn, bloodstained clothes.

“Papa… you’re okay… y-you… I… I thought that you w-were…”

The rest of her words are lost between unintelligible sobs and whimpers, and Seteth finds enough strength to raise his left hand and pet her hair gently.

“I’m… I’m alright, Light.” He croaks weakly, even as he knows something is wrong. His back doesn’t hurt _too_ much, in fact he can only feel the superficial pain of a magical burn and not the searing agony that had overtaken him earlier, but he also cannot feel his legs. In fact when he tries to move them, he realises he’s unable to.

Others might have been horrified, but Seteth only regards it with a peculiar, detached sort of curiosity. Slowly it dawns on him, what has happened, but… for now, he cannot bring himself to pay much attention to himself. Not with Flayn sobbing and crying and begging him not to leave her, because what would she do if he left her alone in this world?

“Flayn… please calm down. I promise there is nothing you should fear.”

Flayn looks up, sniffling. Her hand comes to rest on his face, and she shakes her head.

“You’re hurt…”

“I will heal.”

“No, you don’t understand-“ she chokes on her words, frantically wiping the tears off her eyes with her free hand. “Manuela- she said that- that your spine- it’s really bad…”

Seteth’s eyes search the room for Manuela, but she must have left to allow them some privacy. He makes a mental note to thank her for it later.

He doesn’t know exactly what Manuela told Flayn while he was unconscious, but he thinks he may have a vague idea of it. Long ago, he’s been injured like that again; so long ago that not even he remembers all the details, but during the War of Heroes, he had come to face one of the Ten Elites on the Tailtean Plains. Maurice had killed his wife and would have killed his daughter too; but even though he’d already been injured and exhausted, Seteth, _Cichol,_ had stood between the monstrous warrior and his family’s unmoving bodies. He’d killed Maurice in the end, by transforming into his primal form within his rage and pain, and summoning forth crystal spires within his rage and pain, with which he pierced all humans around him, friend or foe. But before that, Maurice had driven the blade of Blutgang right through his midsection, severing the nerves and muscles on his back, and shattering the vertebrae beneath. Cichol had fallen to the ground, had managed to crawl to the bodies of Cethleann and Idunn, before the beast within had taken over. But when he’d woken, he remembered having the exact feeling he does now; the weakness, the helplessness, his lower body not moving an inch no matter how hard he tried. It had taken months and a whole lot of Macuil’s magic before he had managed to stand and walk again. And even then, the pain had been with him for the remainder of his life. Even during his years in Garreg Mach he could sometimes feel it, deep within, when he exhausted himself after a fight and jarred the old injuries. The star-shaped scar in the middle of his back was an ever-present reminder.

Flayn must have guessed his thoughts, because she tries to explain what Manuela told her.

“Manuela said it wouldn’t have been so bad, but… but she could detect old injuries in the same spot where you got hit. She said that the spell that hit you worsened what was already there and- and… she c-can’t do much to reverse the damage.”

Seteth nods sagely. Really, he’s always known his old wounds would come to bite him in the ass. With how many years he’d spent fighting on the field of battle, and with how old he was getting, it had really been a miracle it hadn’t happened sooner. It’s quite terrifying to think that he may never walk again, that he may never again ride Andromache into battle, but he doesn’t regret any of it. Not when the alternative would have been his daughter’s cold, dead body in his arms.

“Whatever comes, we’ll face it together.” He said softly. He slips Flayn’s hand into his, smiling weakly.

“I will not lose hope so long as you are safe, my dear.”

Flayn sniffles. “If I had listened to you, if only I hadn’t rushed into battle… you would still be okay… you wouldn’t have gotten so terribly hurt.”

“You can’t know that.” Under any other circumstances he might have scolded her, taken the chance to persuade her to remain away from the battlefield. But now… no, he couldn’t see her blame herself like that. “I could have fallen off Andromache, or shot down by an archer, or anything at all. For all we know, the alternative may have been far worse.”

“Whatever could be worse?!” Flayn whimpers.

“Hmm, how about dying?”

“You almost did!” Flayn huffs, and for a moment he wants to laugh at the sweetly strict expression on her face. “Though… I suppose in the end, you didn’t. I… I’m so… I’m so glad that…”

He can sense she’s going to start crying again, so he pulls her close with his left arm (the right one is probably broken, or something similar). She crawls next to him on the bed, curling up against his side as carefully as possible so she will not hurt him.

“Let us forget about the battle.” Seteth says softly. “Let us rest, alright? We are both in need of sleep.”

Flayn nods slowly against his shoulders.

“I… I suppose.” She smiles a little, threading his fingers through his for all the comfort they can offer to each other, father and child. “Goodnight, papa… Rest well.”

“Goodnight, my Light. I will.”

_So long as I know you’re safe, I will._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6: Fishing // Ocean View 
> 
> (I'm late but, I want to finish this event before the year changes!)

The sound of the waves is a balm that soothes his wounds. The sun’s rays caress him gently, and the breeze carries the smell of home. Seteth closes his eyes and throws his head back, feeling the salty breeze and the spray of water on his face.

It is a moment of peace. The waves come and go gently about him, and the rustle of fabric next to him brings a smile to his face.

“Flayn.” He says softly, not opening his eyes. Flayn laughs gently and sits next to him on the shallows, the water barely coming up to her waist. None of them care for their sodden clothes; it’s comfortable, honestly, in the hint of the day.

“You look so calm, father.” She lets the word tumble gently off her tongue, as there is no danger, here in the deserted seashore. “I haven’t seen you like that in months.”

Seteth laughs softly, opening his eyes just a little to look at her.

“Such is the effect the sea has on me, it seems.” He wrapped an arm around her pulling her close.

“I feel… I feel close to your mother here.” He admits. Flayn’s face falls just a little, but she nods.

“I do, too. It feels as if she speaks to me. In the waves, the wind…”

“Yes.” Seteth lets out a melancholic sigh. “No matter how hard I try, I will never stop wishing to return to those quiet days. I… would give it my all to spend even a day with her and you, here, like we used to.”

Flayn’s sad, nostalgic face enters his field of vision.

“I understand, father. But… we cannot turn the clock back. We can only live in the present, lest it slips between our fingers too.”

She is so wise, his Cethleann, even though she’s young. Seteth smiles, and kisses the top of her head.

“You are right, my dear. We’re still here, you and me. I will not let anyone take that away.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: Happy Birthday Seteth!
> 
> (Just a wholesome lil' thing to celebrate the end of the event and our favourite saint's birthday! All hail saint Cichol uwu)

“This way! C’mon, we don’t have all day!”

Seteth stumbled after Jeralt, as the latter pulled at his arm towards the dining hall. It was late at night, and by all accounts most of the monastery’s inhabitants should be asleep. Frankly, he had no idea why the knight was so eager to drag him to the hall.

“Jeralt, what’s this about?” He asked, catching up to the knight.

Jeralt just winked. “It’s important, that’s all.”

“So important that it cannot wait until tomorrow?” He’d had a rough day, really, even if Flayn had insisted he should take a break and enjoy the… occasion. But he could not simply abandon his duty for any kind of festivities.

“It absolutely _cannot_ wait until tomorrow.” Jeralt insisted. Seteth rolled his eyes, but offered no further resistance. The less he complained, the faster they’d get on with it, and the sooner they could crawl into bed and get some rest.

Jeralt seemed excited, as he pried the doors of the dining hall open- strange, hadn’t the cooks locked it for the night? He had half a mind to ask Jeralt about it again, but Jeralt just ushered him inside.

“Close your eyes.”

Seteth didn’t understand _why_ he had to do that, seeing as the hall was pitch-black already. Only a thin ray of moonlight that slipped from the crack on the doorway lit the first few steps in it. He let out a loud sigh.

“I’m a bit too tired for games…”

But he did as Jeralt asked, anyway. He didn’t have it in him to go against the words of his beloved.

There was shuffling about, and Seteth thought he heard rushed whispers, and the rapid hissing of multiple excited breaths. He frowned- his hearing, although much superior to a humans, must have been deceiving him. There couldn’t be anyone else in there at such a late time and-

“Okay, open your eyes.” Jeralt’s voice vibrated with excitement, and Seteth couldn’t help but wonder about the cause of it. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes…

…and had to close them again, even for a moment, because there was sudden candlelight in the hall, and he needed to blink a few quick times before his vision adjusted.

As soon as he did, he was left sharing in shock, confusion, and no small amount of fluster, as a row of Garreg Mach’s students stood in the middle of the hall, grinning at him.

“Happy Birthday!”

Seteth’s mouth opened and closed, and he gave up on trying to form any words that would appropriately describe his surprise. Byleth, standing in front of the students, threw her head back and laughed.

“Goddess, you really are dense!” She said. Flayn ran up to him and wrapped his arms around him tightly.

“At least thrice this week I thought you’d almost found us out.” Hilda agreed, sighing. “Well, all the work was worth it, I suppose.”

“Happy birthday, father.” She whispered with her face buried in his chest so nobody could hear. Byleth came up to them too, as did the other students, who swarmed around him to shower him with wishes.

Most of the students and staff were there. The House he was responsible of, the Black Eagles, first and foremost. Dorothea sung a song from the Coast of Rhodos (supposedly the place where Seteth and Flayn hailed from), Mercedes, Annette and Lysithea had baked a variety of treats, and Edelgard gifted him an ornate Adrestian dagger on behalf of all the Eagles. Even Hubert seemed to be content with the occasion.

Most of the humans had gifted him books and weapons, and Seteth found himself sitting in front of a pile of parchment and steel, his face a deep red as he stammered thank you’s here and there. Claude laughed.

“Did we just make Seteth, the almighty stern advisor, _stutter?”_

“I do believe it’s quite the show.” Edelgard had allowed herself to smile.

“I’m sure the only other person who has even gotten close to flustering that much before, is my dad.” Byleth joked. “And that’s only because they-“

“Aaaaalright, who wants cake?” Jeralt intervened when he realised where the conversation was heading to.

By the end of it, Seteth had to admit it was really… _fun._ He’d had no idea the students appreciated him so. Even little Bernadetta had come up to him and excitedly handed him a sketch of him and Flayn that she had done on her own. Ingrid insisted that he’d helped most of them in various ways, and they simply wanted to thank him for it. Caspar had proclaimed the Black Eagles to be the luckiest House in the Academy, because Seteth was their teacher. Even the silent Ashen Wolves girl, Hapi, had admitted that he was “nothing like the rest of the Church goons”, whatever that meant.

It had been way past midnight by the time Seteth put his food down and insisted they should all go to sleep (not before Linhardt made him promise the Eagles would be getting a free day the next morning, though). Lysithea and Annette had eaten so many sweets that Raphael and Mercedes had to carry them to their dorms, and all the other students, even Claude, had seemed ready to fall asleep by then. Ferdinand had carried a sleeping Flayn to her room, and when Seteth bristled, ready to snap at the boy, Jeralt had put his hand on his shoulder and winked.

“Let them have at it, old man.” He joked, and Seteth could only roll his eyes and relent.

Jeralt closed the door to his bedroom as Seteth walked in behind him, and leaned in for a kiss.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.” The knight murmured against Seteth’s lips, and the latter let out a small moan.

“Jeralt… was this your idea?” He asked, pulling him close. Jeralt just shook his head.

“Nah. It was all the students. They simply roped me and the rest of the staff into it.”

Seteth felt himself blush, and not just from the stifling warmth of the room. “I… I had no idea they considered me so… important.”

“Well, you always help the lot of them with anything and everything.” Jeralt chuckled. “They love you, Seteth. As do I.”

Seteth allowed himself a small, embarrassed grin. “I… haven’t felt like this in so long. I-“

He swallowed hard.

“I’m really thankful.”

Jeralt pulled him to his bed, smiling.

“Every year from now on, I will make sure this day will be special for you, as it should.” He said, and Seteth laughed abruptly.

“I don’t even remember how old I’ve gotten… Might be one thousand and five hundred, but I’m not even certain for that.”

Jeralt laughed loudly. “Well what does it matter? What matters is that we’re here. Together. And we have all the time in the world.”

“Yes…” Seteth buried his face in the crook of Jeralt’s neck, hiding the sudden wetness in his eyes even though he was sure the knight would know.

“Yes… we do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just some sad Seteth and father-daughter snuggles <3 
> 
> Translations from Irish:  
> -deargadh: (my) light  
> -athair: father  
> -inníon: (my) daughter 
> 
> Twitter: @flaythleann  
> Event (twitter): @setethbday2020 organised by @Grimmbae


End file.
